Kimono in the Garbage
by Izumi e Izanai
Summary: It was a shimmering pinkish mauve in color, with elaborately embroidered pictures of two lovers strolling along an arching bridge under sakura trees. He was just thankful that they hadn’t made him wear the white face paint and red lipstick as well.
1. Prologue

**Kimono in the Garbage**

**Prologue **

Written by: Izanai

"Why the hell am I still wearing a kimono?"

The two Turks snickered amongst themselves quietly before one of them rolled her eyes at the captive.

"Because, Buri, if you escape, we should be able to find you again in the Wall Market, baka." she stated.

"Paraberu," said another Turk, sitting with her long brown hair hanging in front of her face, "That's true, but actually, I think Sukiruru and I burned his other clothes… or made them into voodoo dolls… something like that, anyway."

The door to the inquisition room opened and a third Turk ran in, clutching a sheaf of papers. She handed them to the first Turk, and proceeded to neaten the dark blue suit she wore.

"I… met with… the Vice President…" she gasped, and took a few deep breaths before continuing.

"He said he was busy and that we were to start questioning the prisoner without him."

The other Turks looked at one another.

"Well, Reno was looking for Rufus a while ago and Penunbura told him where to find his koibito."

Sukiruru tried to hide a snicker, but nevertheless kicked Paraberu in the shin. "Para, shut up and keep innuendoes to yourself. No one is supposed to know that we help certain bishounen have certain secret love affairs… especially not the cockroach." She was kicked back.

"You just said more than I did." Paraberu muttered.

Penunbura nearly snarled. "Can we please just get started? We spent over a week with this annoying bastard, and I'd like to get out of here as soon as possible."

The sound of chairs scraping back filled the small room, and the two sat down. Paraberu shuffled the papers and then looked reluctantly at the twenty-year-old at the other end of the table.

"Right," she said, "If you don't tell us everything about how you came to be involved with Cid's refusal of ShinRa's space program, we'll be forced to return you to the cells until the torturer has time in his schedule."

"Wait, who's Rufus?" asked Gokiburi, the prisoner seated across from the three Turks. "Is he as good looking as _moi_?"

Sukiruru slid her chair over to the computer console and opened a file. "Buri, it's pronounced 'mwah' not 'moy'. Gods, you're an idiot." She looked at Penunbura and Paraberu. "Just so you know, any grammatical errors in this report are his, not mine."

Penunbura ignored her. "Start talking, 'Buri."

A six-year-old Gokiburi Hikouka—with the same ugly, curly hair as always—sat in the sand of the Fifth District playground, by the swings, avoiding the older kids who tried to kick him as they swung past.

"Hey," said another little boy, "That's a really cool Turk!Vincent action figure!"

"It's not an action figure! It's a doll, pissant!"

"Not that far back…" said Paraberu, "…_pissant_!"

"Fine then, three years, okay?" asked Gokiburi. "And don't call me that!"

Penunbura looked ill. "One year, maybe one-and-half. No more than that."

"Yeah, we don't want to experience your childhood trauma." Paraberu added.

"Besides, Sukiruru can't type fast enough." Penunbura muttered.

Sukiruru whined, "Like you can do any better."

"I can; get out of the way!" Penunbura shoved Sukiruru out of the way and sat in front of the console. "Right then, 'Buri, start from a year ago, or else."

Sukiruru was still whining. "Now I have to look at his ugly face. Damn you all!"


	2. Chapter One

**Kimono In The Garbage ****  
****Chapter One**

**Written by: Izumi **

Gokiburi leaned against the musty, graffiti ridden wall, tarnished-gold hair fraying his vision of the blonde girl in front of him. He was vaguely aware of the voices around him while he listened intently to her account of the man she had loved unrequitedly for years.

"And, like, I love his hair. The way the sun makes the silvery sheen of it glow even more so than it does regularly." She told him, blue eyes hazed over as if she were daydreaming. "His eyes are what I love about him most, though. They're like ice, have you noticed? But not cold ice..."

Buri was confused. "Wait… isn't ice supposed to cold?" She seemed to hear him even though he muttered.

"_Anyway_, as I was saying - they're not like cold ice, but more like a warm, fuzzy sort of ice, you know?"

"He sounds pretty hot, if you understand how ice can warm and fuzzy." He commented cheerfully, pretending to understand how ice could be fuzzy.

Juria nodded, and then scowled. "But last time I went to see him, these three Turk bitches threw me out and threatened to kill me if I ever came back again."

"You have any idea why?"

"Hell no - though they did say something about the General not wanting to see anyone other then his koibito Cloud." She spat the last words out with such distaste it would've made the deadliest parasite wither and die.

Buri winced, knowing full well Juria's hatred of 'gay' people. "You could always wait until they're off duty, then sneak in. That building is frickin' _huge_, there's gotta be a security flaw in it somewhere." He suggested, looking for an excuse to leave the conversation.

Juria nearly died with joy, practically leaping at the eighteen-year-old in her rush to steal a hug from him. "Thanks!" Then she ran off down the street, leaving Buri standing alone again.  
He released a sigh of relief, thanking whatever sort of gods or god there was that Juria had gone. Instantly he felt bad about it and regretted the thanks - Juria was one of his - if not his only - friends, no matter how annoying she got sometimes.

He glanced across the street at a lady who was gesturing to him, shook his head, and mouthed the words: 'Sorry, but I'm not working right now.' The lady, in turn, flipped him the bird and disappeared around the corner.

He ran his fingers through his hair and turned around, coming face to face with the last person he wanted to see at the moment.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?" His father snarled, his breath reeking of alcohol and smoke.

He tried to elbow his way past his dad. In reply, he growled. "The night's over, I'm done for the day.""No, you're not." The older man snarled, grabbing the boy by his arm and yanking him back.

He tried not to retch at the awful stench of his father's breath, while at the same time fighting a losing battle to be let go of. For his efforts, he was rewarded with a fist to the back of his skull, and another to his gut. He wiped away the spit that had leaked from his mouth with his sleeve, and forced himself to ignore the pain that shot up his abdomen as he straightened himself. As soon as he had regained composure, a calloused hand wrenched his head back by his hair and proceeded to lead the boy back down Wall Market to his home.

Tired and bleary-eyed he found that the forced position of his face upward was a convenience if he had wanted to stare at the muddied signs. Bright, fluorescent, neon lights adorned the tatty buildings to attract attention - which, wasn't very hard to do because the sudden flash of either pink, yellow, red, orange, or green could be very alarming when you're drunk and groggy. Nobody around them took notice of the pair as he was virtually hauled around corners and down allies by the drunkard. He supposed that this was because it wasn't uncommon for people like him to be beaten and slaughtered in some back alley as long as it didn't affect them directly.

He counted the number of darkened brown stains on the wall as he was dragged home, and at each smeared blotch that would roughly estimate to the shape of human brains being blown out the back of the head he flinched. Disgusted, he closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping pace as best he could. It became silent for a very long time.

The taller man shoved the door open with his shoulder and roughly threw Buri to the ground, seeming to be indifferent to his son's cringe. From his place on the grubby floor, Buri didn't move, knowing full well what came next. It was a game his father liked to play with him: How long until he broke down and cried. Despite his secret promise to himself to not break down, he always found he did, and he hated it. Just like he hated the man who had just sent his foot careening into his gut - he suppressed a whimper.

"Come on, _Koishii_, stand up." His father whispered softly into his ear, kneeling down by his prone body. "God dammit, I _said stand up_!" He snarled, his fist, skin stretched tightly over the rock-hard bone, smashing into his jaw.

He heard something splinter, or crack, and he did his best to ignore it - but a muffled howl still leaked through. He knew how much this agonized sound pleased his father and learned to move against the blows when he could manage to anticipate them. Calloused fingers wrapped around his arm and hauled him upright, while another hand pounded into his stomach with a resounding oomph. He tried to retaliate and found that larger man in front of him again, his back turned.

"How's this taste?" He murmured, slamming his elbow back into his jaw.

Again, he staggered back, his back against the shoddily constructed wall. His breathing became heavy and forced as he watched his dad swagger toward him, and by the way he looked Buri knew another mood swing had forced him into this position. He stopped in front of him and seemed to look right through him and to the wall behind.

"God, I'm so damn sorry." He growled, pulling the boy into a drunken embrace.

Terror kept him from moving.

Something more was slurred into his ear, but he couldn't make it out and instead found himself being pulled onto the couch next to his father. He knew the situation well, and didn't say anything. Instead, he allowed his father to cuddle against him until he heard the rhythmic breathing that signaled his sleep. It would be hours before he woke up.

To occupy the time, Buri stared ahead, thinking of nothing in particular. A sudden, desperate thought came to him as he blinked at the gloom, and he knew that with the right timing and proper planning he could accomplish it.

He heard the grumble behind him and quickly shut his eyes.

Another few days passed and the events occurred along the same line as before, except Buri was subconsciously aware that he had to leave sooner than he had hoped.

"Why do you put up with that?" Juria asked him one day, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers.

He looked up, dirty pond water-colored eyes devoid of understanding. "I dunno, I guess it's just 'cause I have nowhere else to go." He muttered with a shrug.

She glared at him and put her hands on her hips. "Well, just up and go, really." She rolled her eyes. "If you hate it so much just leave. It can't be that bad that you're terrified to leave this hell-hole." She finished with a broad gesture to the city around her.

"You don't understand it, Juria. You _couldn't_!" He snarled, clenching his fists in frustration. "How the hell do you even think that your tragedy could compare with mine? Where do you come up this damned idea that I could just up and go?"

She huffed slightly and walked across the street, brushing him off with a wave of her hand. "It's _your_ problem, not mine. You figure it out."

"Damn whore." He growled, sliding down the wall into a sitting position.

"Goddamn store. They don't even have decent kimonos." Someone hissed, punching the wall in frustration.

He looked up and took in the sight of three Turks, one of which was holding a bag.

Another of them shrugged. "What did you expect, this is _Wall Market_, after all. Let's just head off to the Gold Saucer, they'll have something."

The last of the trio brightened considerably, pleased with the revelation that it wouldn't be as hard to track their quarry after all. With the kimonos, they shouldn't seem too conspicuous. "Right then, we can go."

He watched them leave, and he smiled to himself. The Gold Saucer would be a perfect place for him to leave to, he'd just have to work up enough Gil to get in - shouldn't be too hard, considering his job. Pushing himself off the ground, he hardened his resolve and set about his job.

After some time he had accumulated enough Gil to get into the Gold Saucer, now he just had to find a way out of Midgar. Again, he found himself asking Juria for advice.

"A way _out?_ You're actually serious about this thing?" She asked, dumbfounded.

"Well, yeah, did you think I was kidding?" He replied, annoyed.

She nodded curtly and led him to a back wall, where kids were staring at a large wire. "There ya go." She said, pointing to the wire. "They say it'll get you out of here." She added, with a nod to the kids.

"You're giving me advice you got from a bunch of children?"

"Deal with it."

"So…" Gokiburi muttered, fidgeting in awkward embarrassment.

"I'll be seein' ya!" Juria shouted from down the alley, jogging back to her spot.

Buri blinked, confused, and then turned to the kids gathered around the wire. "You're sure that's gonna get me outta here?"

They all beamed and nodded, and he struggled up the wire, his shoes grinding into the wall as he pulled himself up. He looked down briefly and shuddered. "Dammit, this is _high_." He muttered, relieved when he saw the top of the wall and the wreckage that would serve as a passageway out.

He was tired, and nearly collapsed along the narrow ledge that was the top of the wall when he got up there. His breathing came fast and ragged, his arms hurt, and he couldn't see straight - continuing would be suicide. "Either way, I'll be dead before I'm twenty-five." He said under his breath, pushing himself to his feet.

When he jumped the gap between the first platform and the wall, he staggered and had to lean against something for support. He continued like that for what seemed to be hours, and was rewarded by the sight of dead grass, just outside the walls of Midgar. Anxious to be out of the grungy metropolis he quickened his pace, reaching the area just outside the walls in another hour.

He laughed madly and collapsed in exhaustion on the rusty-brown grass.


End file.
